No Bravery
by StillWaters1
Summary: In the wake of 2x21, Bobby watches Dean mourn, reflects on his boys, and muses on what's to come.


Title: No Bravery

Author: Still Waters

Fandom: Supernatural

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. Just playing, with love and respect to those who brought these characters to life.

Summary: In the wake of 2x21 (AHBL1), Bobby watches Dean mourn, reflects on his boys, and muses on what's to come.

Notes: This story is set in the time between the end of 2x21 (All Hell Breaks Loose 1) and the beginning of 2x22 (AHBL2). I had been wanting to write something referencing the reveal of Sam's faith in 2x13 (Houses of the Holy), and had another idea already outlined when I saw Ash48's stunning video, also titled "No Bravery" (ash48 (dot) livejournal (dot) com (slash) 127655 (dot) html) - a gorgeous focus not only on the Winchesters' grief, but on the deep impact of the supernatural on the weekly episodic characters as well. The vid stuck with me, and I found myself writing this story. It is an exploration of Sam's faith, an acknowledgement of the 'characters of the week', and a raw look at the aftermath of Cold Oak through Bobby's eyes. This is not a happy story – but it was not a happy time, and for all its laughter and love, Supernatural is a dark show, threaded with grief. Before the crossroads demon was even a thought in Dean's mind, I saw Bobby watching Dean, a silent witness to immeasurable loss….and these were the words he gave me, thoughts I could see going through his mind before the events of 2x22 occurred. This was one of the most difficult things I've written - it went through six days of revisions as I struggled to honor the emotions. I hope I did the characters justice. Thank you for reading and thank you to those reviewers I am unable to respond to personally via private message. I truly appreciate your support.

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><p>Bobby was waiting for the gunshot.<p>

He hadn't asked for Dean's weapon, and he wouldn't. As much as he loved that boy, it wasn't his right. Nor was it _right_. Because behind the shock, tears, and shattered grief….

….Dean was already dead.

The bullet would just be a formality.

And who was Bobby to stop him? While he loved those boys as his own and wished to hell he could be family enough to keep Dean here, he wasn't Sam. And for Dean, it always had been, always _would_ be, Sam. Even his loyalty to John had never equaled his devotion to his brother - one shared through a lifetime of watching each other's backs, of listening to the other breathe across musty motel beds and worn leather seats. A routine seemingly threatened any time one was out of the other's sight. So Bobby understood this current vigil – Dean standing watch over Sam's body as nature strove to take it back. It wasn't a fight. It wasn't even shock. It was because, as soon as Sam was buried, he would be out of sight again – alone, unprotected, at risk. Where bad things happened. Where Dean needed to be.

This was more than a vigil.

This was Dean planning.

Because his entire world came down to one responsibility, one purpose – watch out for Sam. And now Sam was gone…..and Bobby was family enough to know that the danger wasn't in that loss of purpose, but in the default to a deeper one. Because when Sam was gone, Dean reverted to one driving need: find him. It didn't matter that Dean just watched his personal apocalypse play out in cruel clarity, that he had witnessed his world's end and caught all 6'4" of it as it crumbled to the ground. All that existed, all that he saw, was that Sam was gone. And he had to find him - to protect him, keep him safe. To rebuild his own world…and seek redemption for an unthinkable failure. Dean could track his brother anywhere. And while test scores, differing dreams, and a misplaced sense of abandonment may have kept Dean from following Sam to Stanford, he_ could _follow him now – to heaven, hell, whatever came next. And he _would_. Because his little brother was lost to some dark unknown, alone.

And Dean would not fail him again.

Which left Bobby to grieve for two. Because even though he didn't have much left himself, he wouldn't be that selfish, to keep Dean's body from following his soul.

So it was out of that love that he stayed, a quiet background presence as the hours passed and Dean matched Sam, stillness for pallor, Dean's own skin only refusing to mottle as stubborn muscle continued to circulate blood through a body staring blankly at the lifeless form of its true heart.

But worse than the grief and heartbreak was the tension. The constant, clenched anticipation. He had already found Dean laying on the bed once, his face buried in Sam's hair, Sam's head tucked into the hollow of his neck and shoulder – a childhood comfort Bobby had witnessed from Sam's infancy to his final breath. Since that moment, Dean had stopped touching Sam – just watched him from across the room, or sat next to the bed, head bowed. Bobby knew that the next time he found them together in that image, it would be in a haze of red.

On the night that Dean finally spoke, the single word was the shell-shocked four year old lying next to his infant brother on an unfamiliar motel bed. Trying to understand why his Daddy was crying, while absently wiping the soot and blood off his little brother's face, because that's what Mom did when either of them got dirty and, for some reason, Mom wasn't there.

"Sammy."

And that was it. John and Mary were gone. Sam was gone. And with that one word, Bobby's quiet support was a hair's breadth from exploding into a raw, blasphemous sorrow, one that would profane Dean's silent vigil for answers that would never come. So Bobby stepped into the night, to respect Dean's solitary grief….and, tacitly, to tell Dean that he understood. To give him permission to join his brother. Because Bobby knew, even in the depths of unspeakable darkness, that Dean would never take his own life in front of someone. So Bobby went outside and told himself that he was doing it for Dean, for Sam, out of love and understanding….and that it wasn't partially to get it all over with. Told himself that the crack of a gunshot wouldn't release the line of tension he was barely holding.

Because that would be selfish.

The wind warned of impending rain as a cold moon glinted off the Impala, revealing an open window on the rear driver's side. Bobby headed in that direction, grateful for simple tasks and a disaster he could actually prevent. The only part of Dean's foundation still standing. One of the first things Bobby had done after helping Dean bring Sam inside was clean the back seat. Even then, he hadn't been sure Dean would ever return home, but if he _did_, Bobby would be damned if he had to suffer his brother's blood along with the ghost of his absence.

It had been the right thing to do. Because as Bobby opened the door, he found where Dean had gone earlier that evening, when the creak of the Impala's hinges and an hour of silence had brought Dean back to Sam's side with eyes as red as the blood still flaking off his jeans. Sam's bag was open on the freshly scrubbed leather, the edge of a journal poking around familiar t-shirts and flannels. Bobby was starting to tuck everything back in when he noticed several cards scattered on the floor, the moon shining off small, ink-smudged watermarks of recent grief.

The images on the cards varied, the words slightly different, but the meaning nearly brought him to his knees.

"_The Holy sacrifice of the Mass will be offered for the repose of the soul of Jessica Moore at St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic Church, Palo Alto, CA."_

"…_.the soul of Mary Winchester at Corpus Christi Church, Lawrence, KS"_ and another, _"at Our Lady of the Rosary, Providence, RI."_

"…_the soul of Pastor Jim Murphy at Sts. Peter and Paul Catholic Church, Blue Earth, MN."_

"…_the soul of John Winchester at the Cathedral of St. Joseph, Jefferson City, MO."_

And another one from the Cathedral, edges worried and stained stiff by unsteady crimson fingers, dated the morning after the car crash, _"…for the intention of Dean Winchester."_

Shaking hands read through others, names both familiar and unknown. Some, according to the cards, still alive, others long gone.

"_Meg Masters, Holy Spirit Church, Sioux Falls, SD."_

"_Max Miller, Holy Family Catholic Church, Saginaw, MI."_

"_Andy Gallagher, St. John the Baptist Catholic Church, Guthrie, OK."_

"_Diana Ballard, Holy Cross Church, Baltimore, MD."_

"_Evan and Julie Hudson, Immaculate Heart of Mary, Greenwood, MS."_

"_Rose Thompson, St. Anthony of Padua, Litchfield, CT."_

"_Ron Resnick, St. Stanislaus Catholic Church, Milwaukee, WI."_

And one that simply read, _"Madison, Old St. Mary's Cathedral, San Francisco, CA."_

There were dozens more stuffed between the journal's pages.

With painful clarity, Bobby understood why Dean had spoken tonight, why Sam's name had been torn from a throat too raw to speak. Because looking at those Mass cards….it was like holding Sam's entire soul in a handful of paper. His deeply compassionate heart, his struggles with the violence of their work, his relentless guilt, his fear of destiny's shadow, his hopeful goodness. The cards were a desperate act of atonement, a visual remembrance, and a plea for the healing of lives he briefly brushed yet immediately cared for. His way of making sure _others_ knew those names. But more than that, they were witness to a deeply rooted faith, one Bobby hadn't even known _existed_. A faith that had weathered apocalyptic prophecy from the very mouths of hell's demons themselves.

More than the blood, the corpse, or the silence, those spilled cards screamed that Sam had been here, on this Earth. And, even louder, that he never would be again.

Bobby broke.

He had lived a lifetime of loss in just the last year alone, but after each one, he had lifted his bowed head and replaced a worn hat over clouded eyes that sparked with a stubborn bravery, stepping forward knowing the next loss was likely right around the corner. This time, as the wind kicked up over choked breath, the moon caught his reflection in the far window, and Bobby looked into eyes that held Jim, Caleb, John, Ash, Ellen, Rumsfeld, Sam, and now, in all but body, Dean.

And there was no bravery.

Only sadness.

Bobby backed out of the car, let the next gust of wind bring him to the ground, and prayed to a God he had studied more than he had ever believed in, for all that he had lost. For Sam and Dean, his boys, that some of the scriptures, beyond hell spawn and the world's ending, might be true. That they'd be together again on the other side.

And that he might join them.

Because Bobby wasn't selfish. Even while silently pouring out his grief on the rough gravel against the Impala's back tire, he was there for Dean. Because Sam couldn't be. And Bobby wouldn't have left either of them to face such a nightmare alone. So he waited. For Dean. For the silent silhouette at the door that meant Dean had chosen a slow death…

…..Or the gunshot that would bring him back to the bed.

Bobby would take care of them. Cremate them together. He couldn't see Sam or Dean wanting to be tied to the earth with what was coming. With what had already come.

Then he'd drive home, where the perfume of fresh pies and wet fur still lingered just on the edge of memory. To sit on the porch with Sam's journal and his own losses and raise a toast in honor of those lives as the blue horizon deepened, dark branches stark against the evening sky.

A sky waiting for the shine of stars, a whispered prayer…

…and a final gunshot.

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><p><span>Notes:<span>

- A Catholic Mass card is a card, often sent to family, which says that the sender has arranged for a Mass to be said for someone. It is often in memory of a deceased individual, but may also be in support of a living person, such as someone who is ill. The churches referenced in this story were chosen based on where the Winchesters met the people and/or where they died, as close as episode transcripts allowed me to identify a location. Each church actually exists in that town (or did, as of a recent Google map search). Mary Winchester has two cards because of two important moments for Sam – the Lawrence, KS one after 1x09 (Home) where Sam sees her destroy the poltergeist in their old house, and the Providence, RI one after 2x13 (Houses of the Holy), when Dean reveals that Mary also had faith like Sam.

- The listing of potentially lesser known characters is as follows:

1. Meg Masters - the demon's host, died in 1x22 (Devil's Trap).

2. Max Miller – the telekinetic kid Sam had visions about, died in 1x14 (Nightmare).

3. Andy Gallagher – the 'mind control' psychic Sam first met in 2x05 (Simon Said), still alive when Sam got this card after the events in that episode.

4. Diana Ballard - the cop from 2x07 (The Usual Suspects) who sees the ghost, finally believes the boys, stops her own partner, and lets the Winchesters get away. Still alive.

5. Evan and Julie Hudson – the couple from 2x08 (Crossroad Blues) where Evan made a deal with the crossroads demon to save Julie's life when she was dying from cancer. Still alive.

6. Rose Thompson – the elderly woman disabled by a stroke, who let her ghostly sister take her life instead, in order to spare the life of her granddaughter in 2x11 (Playthings). The episode took place in Cornwall, CT, but there was no Catholic Church listed in that town, so nearby Litchfield was chosen.

7. Ron Resnick – the 'mandroid' believer killed in 2x12 (Nightshifter).

8. Madison (no last name given) – the werewolf Sam falls for and has to kill in 2x17 (Heart).

- Ellen is included in Bobby's litany of loss as it isn't revealed that she survived the burning of the Roadhouse until 2x22 (All Hell Breaks Loose 2).


End file.
